I've been trying out the high road, and I hate it
"So?" The Ark shoots Jack a sideways smirk, one shoulder lifting in a careless roll. "As long as it isn’t you, what do I care?" She leans into him as they climb, dust kicking up around their boots, her body fitting to his with seamless inevitability. When they reach the stands she sinks into a seat as though claiming it outright, laying one calf on the seat in front of her and folding one long leg over the other. She leans back, red hair spilling and shifting like a restless tide caught in dry wind before fixing Jack with another cocky lift of an eyebrow.
She pretends to weigh the matter with exaggerated gravity before her lips curve again. "They did come to be entertained, didn’t they?"
As Calypso approaches, at first the Ark does not look, if only because she has never seen Caly before and up here in the stands, she has no way of feeling the girl as she normally would. But when her voice comes with its unmistakable cadence—that bright-sunshine lilt threaded with something sharper beneath—recognition slides into place immediately and the Ark turns her blue eyes on the Marin girl where they drink her in without haste: blonde hair catching light, dark eyes that watch with sly intelligence, the posture of someone who has always known how to hold herself both on and off the sea. The Ark’s red mouth curves slowly. "Of course not," she says easily, voice smooth as polished timber. "Hello, Caly."
Jack's crew had known who the Ark was immediately; they'd been there the first time he'd called her up out of wood and canvas and into form, but would Caly know? The Ark studies her with unhurried curiosity, head tilting slightly, red hair lifting in a breeze of her own making, the faintest trace of brine threading the air before it dissolves. She does not know whether there is something visible about her, something that marks her as more than skin and curve and breath. Whether the sea leaves a sheen on her that distance from the galleon can't dull, whether the weight of depth hums beneath her ribs loud enough to be heard.
"Do you know who I am?"
The Ark is sitting in the stands with Caly and Jack.
Her Siren's Wake ability is active:
Magic: Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
Type: Dark | Rank: Mastered | Cost: Passive
She pretends to weigh the matter with exaggerated gravity before her lips curve again. "They did come to be entertained, didn’t they?"
As Calypso approaches, at first the Ark does not look, if only because she has never seen Caly before and up here in the stands, she has no way of feeling the girl as she normally would. But when her voice comes with its unmistakable cadence—that bright-sunshine lilt threaded with something sharper beneath—recognition slides into place immediately and the Ark turns her blue eyes on the Marin girl where they drink her in without haste: blonde hair catching light, dark eyes that watch with sly intelligence, the posture of someone who has always known how to hold herself both on and off the sea. The Ark’s red mouth curves slowly. "Of course not," she says easily, voice smooth as polished timber. "Hello, Caly."
Jack's crew had known who the Ark was immediately; they'd been there the first time he'd called her up out of wood and canvas and into form, but would Caly know? The Ark studies her with unhurried curiosity, head tilting slightly, red hair lifting in a breeze of her own making, the faintest trace of brine threading the air before it dissolves. She does not know whether there is something visible about her, something that marks her as more than skin and curve and breath. Whether the sea leaves a sheen on her that distance from the galleon can't dull, whether the weight of depth hums beneath her ribs loud enough to be heard.
"Do you know who I am?"
The Ark is sitting in the stands with Caly and Jack.
Her Siren's Wake ability is active:
Magic: Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
Type: Dark | Rank: Mastered | Cost: Passive
I've got a lot of sins, but you're my favourite
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
